Trial By Fire
by Willow in Winter
Summary: Our heroes encounter the final trial of the Gauntlet.  Who said anything about getting naked?


_A/N: I always wished this particular scene had some dialogue because it could have been hilarious! So this has been bouncing around in my head for a while and I finally put it down. Some in-game dialogue is used. Characters are not mine. Enjoy!_

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**Trial By Fire**

The flames were clearly magical, being fueled by nothing but the stone floor and rising far above her head. They felt real though, the heat blasted Miriel's already sweaty face, fanning back a few wispy strands of hair that had escaped from her helmet.

"Well, what have we here?" drawled Zevran, sauntering up behind her.

"Powerful magic, indeed," replied Morrigan, though more to herself than to the elf.

Alistair frowned. "Probably more riddles," he said morosely. "I _hate_ riddles. I'm no good at them."

"Trust me Alistair," Morrigan sneered. "When I say that _no one_ is surprised to hear you say that."

"Oh come on!" he scoffed, and quoted. "A poison of the soul, a passion's cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Jealousy, apparently." Zevran clapped a hand on Alistair's armored back. "Really, Alistair, they weren't _that_ difficult. I mean, I was raised in a brothel and had no formal education and I knew what—."

Miriel gave up trying to focus on the faded writing on the altar while listening to all the bickering behind her. "Zev, enough." She said, cutting him off. "Morrigan, be nice. And Alistair, you have many admirable qualities that more than make up for your lacking riddle-solving skills. For example, you happen to be very good at bashing in darkspawn heads with your shield!"

Alistair didn't seem very placated by her words, but remained silent.

"This is what's written on the altar; let me know what you think: '_Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight_'."

There was silence for several moments, save for the crackling of the flames. Then Zevran started laughing. He only laughed harder when Morrigan burst out, "Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me."

Miriel couldn't help but grin from the reactions of assassin and apostate, and couldn't help snickering into her hand as Alistair starting yelling "What? I don't get it! What is it?"

Zevran, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes and struggling to catch his breath, finally enlightened the poor warrior. "It means," he gasped. "That to cross the flames, we have to be naked."

Alistair immediately turned beet red. "B-but it's FIRE!" he stammered, glancing shiftily over at Miriel.

Recovered from the initial hilarity, Miriel was starting to feel a blush creeping up into her own cheeks. For several weeks now, she and Alistair had been stealing heated kisses in the dark away from camp, and his hands may have wandered a bit, but seeing each other naked? With Zevran and Morrigan no less? It was a step she'd rather not take in the bowels of an old ruin.

Morrigan was fuming. "This is ridiculous. First that pompous Guardian tries to play twenty questions and now we have to strip at the whim of some preachy stone? All for a bit of some well-done priestess? I think not. I'll go back to camp and get Leliana or some other devoted disciple eager to get naked for religion."

Zevran intervened. "I don't know Morrigan, walking through flames scantily clad might be good for you. Warm your frigid demeanor so to speak. And this would give you a chance to admire me freely. Who knows! Maybe the fire will warm you up enough that we go off and—."

Miriel interrupted the exuberant elf once again. "Morrigan, please. I need a mage with me. And besides, I don't think we have to be _totally_ naked."

Morrigan gave Miriel a withering look. "It's not the _degree_ of naked that concerns me. I have no problem with being naked." Zevran's grin grew. "It's the _principle_ of the thing!" She sighed. "But very well, I won't leave you here with the two village idiots. Let's get a move on though shall we? I wish to be gone from this place."

"Agreed!" proclaimed Zevran, who promptly dropped his bags and began unbuckling his twin swords. Alistair, with a look of dawning horror, watched as the elf's armor was deposited on the altar at record speed. Within the minute, Zevran stood before them, bare feet planted, hands on hips, grinning like a fool in nothing but his smallclothes. For a moment Miriel was mesmerized by the half-dozen or so tattoos that wound around his arms and torso but then jerked her gaze away with a blush.

"Well? Who's next?" he questioned, looking around at all of them, particularly Morrigan, expectantly.

Morrigan made a strangled noise in her throat. Alistair looked as if he'd swallowed his sword. Miriel tried to rein in the already dicey situation.

"Come on," she said. "The less time out of our armor the better. Who knows what else is in here." With that she started undoing the buckles and straps of her own silverite armor, wondering nervously which pair of smallclothes she'd worn today and praying feverishly that it was the good pair. Morrigan followed suit, reaching for laces that held her own mysterious getup together, but Alistair remained petrified.

"But Miriel it's fire! We can't possibly—" he began in a strangled voice.

"Alistair you are surpassing yourself today," cut in Morrigan who was tugging off her boots. "It's not _real_ fire, it won't _actually _hurt you."

"Would you like some help with your plate Alistair?" chimed in Zevran. Alistair jumped away as the elf approached, nimble fingers extended.

"Er, no. Thank you."

Miriel was down to her trousers and under-tunic. "Here, Alistair, I'll help you." Not waiting for him to reject this idea or faint outright, she started in at his back.

"Oh _Maker_!" she heard him murmur.

Soon they were all shivering in their smallclothes, not wanting to get too near the magical flames.

Zevran had sidled over near Morrigan, and opened his mouth to make some comment but the witch was quicker. "Speak a single word elf," she spat with particular venom. "And I will cut out your tongue."

The elf smirked, but remained silent, chastised for once.

"Morrigan will this be all right? We just walk across?" Miriel was eyeing the fire with renewed nervousness, stoutly ignoring Alistair looming inches behind her.

"Well I can't really be sure," the mage replied. "But that is the general idea of the spell."

"Great," muttered Miriel, mostly to herself. "All right. I'll go first." And before Alistair could reach out to hold her back she shut her eyes, held her breath, and strode purposefully though the flames. She knew immediately that they had done the right thing. Rather than burning agony, there was only a pleasant warmth and the sensation of walking through cobwebs. When she felt the cold air surround her again she opened her eyes and turned around. "It's okay!" she said, remembering they were only a few feet away. "Come on through!"

No one moved however, and there was a startled shriek from Morrigan as the Guardian appeared among them, crossed the flames, and stood before Miriel. _Oh Gods, _she thought. _I've done it wrong. It's going to kill me._

The Guardian made no move to strike her however. "You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet," he said in his strangely echoing voice. "You have walked the path of Andraste, and like her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrim. Approach the sacred ashes." With a brilliant flash the Guardian disappeared, and the wall of flames sank into the floor.

For a moment nobody moved or spoke. Then Alistair wailed, "You mean I didn't even have to take my clothes off?"

And the other three could do nothing for several minutes, bent in two as they were from laughing.


End file.
